


Now, Always, Thursday Next

by JessamyGriffith



Category: Mrs. Hudson - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Thursday Next - Jasper Fforde
Genre: Crack, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-15
Updated: 2011-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamyGriffith/pseuds/JessamyGriffith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a bomb in the Great Library of Bookworld flings BBC Sherlock's John into the world of prompt fill fan fiction? What will happen? Why is Sherlock a woman, and Mycroft a fish? Will he be able to get back to his script? More importantly, will he want to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now, Always, Thursday Next

**Author's Note:**

> Auth Notes - As my betas will attest, I sent this out after spending (not much) time banging it out on the keyboard, with the title of the email being, "Bored, Tired and Full of Crack"  
> Which could be an appropriate subtitle.
> 
> So. The prompt here was for three word fills. The fill that caught my attention was, "It's turned green." The maggot in my head said, "Oh! an AU science thing!" And then things happened. Inspiration: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/10852.html?thread=56620644#t5662064
> 
> I have no regrets. This is also a subtitle. Thanks to my plotty beta (A.T.S.) for subtitle suggestions, and my brit beta (red_adam) for corrections.
> 
> With love, to you fandom people who make my day, everyday, with your creativity.  
> \------  
> Warnings - Crack. Epic amounts therein. More crack. References to tentacles, m-preg, Cat-people, Neanderthals, Dark!characters, Ghosts, Alpha/Omega/knotting, BDSM, fish, kink meme, fans, trolls, WIPS, sex pollen, gender switch, body swap, references to other fanfics, memes. I may have forgotten some. IDK.
> 
> And love. TWUE WUV.
> 
> Non-explicit. Really. I only refer to the above kinks, I don't detail them.

  
**Now, Always, Thursday Next**

 **  
**

~or~

 _Bored, Tired, and Full of Crack  
~or~  
I Regret Nothing  
~or~  
The Cup of Creativity Has a Crack  
~or~  
I Have Literally Got Nothing; This Fic Has Everything  
~or~  
Everything But the Dinosaurs (Oh Wait, Nevermind, It's Got Those Too)  
~or~  
The Crack, the Whole Crack, and Nothing But the Crack  
~or~  
Help, I've Fallen Into My Crack and I Can't Get Up  
_   
_~or~  
The Jurisfiction One With Fem!Lock, John-Anderson, Dark!Mrs. Hudson, CatStrade, MyCod, and... Oh Yeah, Did I Mention It's Omegaverse?  
~or~  
The Kinkmeme Crack'd  
~or~  
It's Beta When It's Meta  
~or~  
This Is What Happens When You Stay Up All Night On the Kinkmeme and Don't Get Enough Sleep  
~or~  
The Nightmare Before Series 2  
~or~  
At Least There's No Doctor Who. Oh Wait, I Lied_

 

 _  
_

Life in the Bookworld was unique. Life in the sub-basements of the Great Library of the Bookworld in the Fanfic section was... _more_ unique.

In order for readers in our world to enjoy a well-paced, coherent story, there exists in Bookworld a special police force that works to ensure to smooth running of plots - Jurisfiction. Pagerunning characters escaped from their own stories are tracked down and returned, breakouts of the deadly mispeling vyrus are contained, and unread stories are returned to the Sea of Text from whence they came.

But when disaster struck by way of a terrorist attack, law and plot progression broke down. Some said the attack originated from Goliath Corporation in an attempt to gain control of the vast powers of the Great Library. The more knowing nodded and said it was most likely just some anon hayters on Fandom Wank Rant Post who had no idea what they were attempting to do.

The bomb, planted in the 19th sub-basement of the Great Library ( _Fan Fiction Works - from Mimeograph to Internet_ ), destroyed some works entirely. The beautiful and epic Twilight fic, "My Immortal," was irreparably damaged, and now exists only in the terrible form we know it today. Characters were reduced to text pulp, pixels or vanished entirely.

The Fan Fiction department of BBC Sherlock was relatively lucky, but the characters based on the popular TV show were flung away from the blast and into other stories completely randomly. Most unfortunately, an original copy of the Gatiss/Moffat script of 'The Great Game' was affected. A librarian had been analysing it, checking how far fanfic had deviated from canon. She had just opened it to the page where John, sitting on the floor of the pool, had given the nod to his flatmate when the shock wave hit. John had been lifted and flung sideways into a prompt-meme fill.

Before readers began to complain about how their favourite WIPs were not going the way they had expected, Jurisfiction dispatched some of their best agents to begin to sort out the mess. Agent Thursday Next was sent after John, to assess the situation and wait for further instructions.

And as for John? Our lovely ex-Army doctor, innocently torn from his gen-rated script and dropped into fan fiction? Can you imagine?

 _Can you?_

Okay, yes, you probably can.

 

~oOo~

 

"It's turned green. Does that mean..."

Fem-lock peered over John-Anderson's shoulder at the wand. "It's green? Really?" She spun on her high heels, coat spinning out like a runway model's. "Oh, it's Christmas! Congratulate me, everyone, I'm going to be a daddy!"

"Mummy," corrected My-cod, flapping his fishy flippers in fraternal smugness.

"Not helping, Mycroft!" yelped John-Anderson in tones only dogs could hear. "What do you mean, Sherlock! The pregnancy kits are meant to turn blue, right? Anyway, it's green, it's... well not a primary colour, but how can you not even tell, Sherlock...!"

"Deuteranomaly, John-Anderson," purred Fem-lock. Behind her, Cavewoman-Sally grunted at the sudden migraine brought on by one of Fem-lock's overly poly-syllabic explanations and began fingering her club thoughtfully. "It's a form of colour-blindness, men often get it. I can't distinguish red from green. Oh, John. Our offspring! I can't wait, though of course I'd have preferred my little-'Lock not to acquire physical traits from Anderson's gene pool..."

"Shut up! _Shut up!_ Really not helping!" John-Anderson gripped his lank dark hair and tugged until he was in control again. "You're not even a man! What am I talking about - how is this even possible, _I'm_ a man...!"

Angelo pushed his way through the crowd congregating in his restaurant, beaming. "Sherlock, John! Un bambino! Congratulations. So romantic - I bring a candle for you."

Fem-lock beamed with absurd pride while John-Anderson screeched at Angelo's retreating back, "I'm not up the duff!"

"Don't be absurd, John. You've got one in the oven. Green is a go, red is no-go," said Stamford. He was absurdly dressed in a overly small chiton, carried a little gold bow and arrow with hearts in the tip, and had tiny fluffy wings which in no way would ever support his bulk. He slurped up a forkful of angel-hair pasta and continued, "Though of course you see why Sherlock takes taxis all the time in this world. Traffic lights..."

"Yes, all right!" snapped Fem-lock, tossing her curls. John-Anderson clasped his hands on top of his head and moaned like a wounded animal, rocking back and forth in denial.

"Not preggers, not preggers..."

Child-Molly tugged on My-cod's fin, earning her the fishy-eye. "Papa Mycroft," she whispered. "What does 'up the duff' mean?"

"It means my younger sibling and his life-partner are about to engender the next generation, my child," he intoned. Cave-Sally groaned again in pain, knitting her Neanderthal brows together in menace and My-cod swiftly corrected himself. "Johnny will have an ickle bay-bee soon, Molly sweetums." Cave-Sally settled back, picking disinterestedly through her matted hair.

Child-Molly considered, and cuddled her Russian Blue cat closer. Kitty-Lestrade flattened his ears and growled at the giant piscine government man, wrapping his trench-coated arms completely about Child-Molly, knees bracketing her small buckled shoes. Child-Molly scratched him behind a grey-tufted ear and he subsided, dark eyes slitted in pleasure. "Oh. If Sherlock is a girl, and John is a boy then... I guess that means Sherlock really is heterosexual then," she said innocently.

There was a long, long, long, long, long pause.

"Oh, hell," said Thursday Next. "Who can tell any more."

 

~oOo~

 

Life in the Bookworld was unique. Life in the sub-strata of the Bookworld in the Fanfic section was...more unique.

Ever since the Prompt-Off topic-Rant-Newfic-Overflow Bomb (or P.O.R.N.O. Bomb for short) had gone off in the 19th level basement of the Great Library in Bookworld, everything had been bizarre. Strange even for the Kinkmeme Fan-fiction department of Sherlock BBC. If someone had taken a giant stick, and swirled through all of the fan fictions works, it could not have been more chaotic. The blast had flung characters in all directions, flinging them into unfamiliar works.

The results had been... confusing. And sometimes arousing.

BBC script-episode John had been knocked sideways from 'The Great Game' and into Anderson's thin hook-nosed body. He would have felt sorry for whatever fic wound up with two Andersons, except he'd been too occupied with his own problems - namely, discovering Anderson was an Omega in this world, and he had just gone into heat at a crime scene. Fem-lock, who'd been thrown in from some gender-twist AU, had turned out to be an Alpha. She had subsequently pushed him into a taxi, and en route had shagged him so hard he thought he'd gone lesbian. He'd actually been unable to walk by the time they reached Baker Street. It'd been humiliating to be carried over the threshold by Fem-lock.

"How... how is this even possible?" asked John-Anderson between sessions of hormone-driven sex-capades all over the flat. Why was he always the bottom? It wasn't fair! And knotting... He had never wanted to know about knotting. Never, never! He wanted to cry, except he was sure that this Anderson-body had had his tear ducts re-routed to his mouth. No wonder Anderson had always spat invective at Sherlock at crime scenes...

Fem-lock had rolled her eyes, completely unsympathetic. "You're a doctor, John. You should know that the clitoris has the same erectile tissues as a penis. Figure it out yourself."

"You're not human!" bellowed John-Anderson from his spread-eagled handcuffed position on Fem-Lock's bed. She had only smiled unnervingly, put on the goggles and snapped on the latex gloves.

"Brace yourself, John," she grinned. "I'm feeling a bit dominant again. Time for another go. This time, rate the orgasm on a scale for intensity and duration. One for 'Is it in yet?' and ten if you black out...again. Don't worry, my dearest blogger. It's for science!"

 

~oOo~

 

The arrival of Jurisfiction Agent Thursday Next had been a god-send, or so John-Anderson had thought. She'd bookjumped into 221C, run up and rescued John-Anderson from his ignominious position. Then she'd called a meeting of the main characters of Sherlock BBC at Angelo's restaurant.

"Why Angelo's?" Fem-lock had asked, voice muffled. She was currently being pressed face down into the sofa by Agent Next. Interrupted during the last sexual go-round, she'd attacked the Jurisfiction Agent in a homicidal Alpha rage. Luckily Fem-lock had forgotten that not only was she weapon-less, but also starkers, and Thursday Next had quickly subdued her. After taking a moment to enjoy the sight of a naked wriggling Fem-lock being pinned by the competent agent, John had shaken his head, _(this world is getting to me!)_ and talked Fem-lock down. Upon being let up, she'd sniffed him all over, and then relaxed. Apparently they had 'bonded.' Whatever that meant.

John-Anderson didn't think he could take many more surprises.

"Angelo's is stable. As far as we can tell, from fic to fic he's a constant. He never really changes," said Next. "If we are going to sort things out, it has to be there at a fixed point. I mean, fan fic is usually chaotic, but this? We need to send you back to your own stories before things change even more. I'm expecting a call from Jurisiction Headquarters soon. Let's move."

 

~oOo~

 

And so here they all were. Dimmock, who was apparently Fem-lock's younger brother, was sniffling and tearful - he'd been about to get married to Molly in another story. Mrs. Dark!Hudson was idly carving her initials into a table, glaring at anyone with a yellowed, bloodshot eye if they even brought up the words 'house' and 'keeper'. Sarah and Anthea sat at the back of the restaurant, snogging deeply between bouts of Anthea's texting.

And this fic's 'John'? The poor sod was dead. Killed in Afghanistan apparently, except he was annoying John-Anderson by showing up as a spectre. He gave John-Anderson the shudders and kept mooning in an angsty way at Fem-lock.

"Piss off," John-Anderson hissed at Ghost-John. "Your Sherlock was knocked into an AU where he's a squirrel. You're moaning up the wrong tree, you idiot."

Ghost-John gave him an offended look and drifted through the front-window to commiserate with Vampire-Jeff Hope. His passage caused the 'romantic' candle to flare momentarily blue, and settle.

Fem-lock kissed the edge of John-Anderson's ear. She had sat and pulled John-Anderson into her lap like a giant toy and was now draped over him like a dark-haired clinging vine. "He's just jealous, darling," she said, tapping at her Blackberry. "He never got the chance to take my virginity. You were my first."

"Technically, you are still a virgin," John-Anderson grumbled. "Whereas I emphatically am not with regards to my arse. Christ. I mean, all I ever got in the BBC episodes was intense innuendo and eye-fucking."

Child-Molly looked wide-eyed at the last phrase, her small mouth dropping open, and My-cod covered her ears with two finely-tailored fins. "Language, John," he chided. John-Anderson choked.

"Not really eye-fucking... oh, never mind! What is _wrong_ with you fan fiction people?"

"Our Anderson wasn't a virgin in this world," mewed Kitty-Lestrade. "Biggest slut in the Yard. Did anyone and anything. A real alley cat." He looked smug, then embarassed, and then quickly lifted a leg and began smoothing down his trouser leg with quick laps.

"Oh thank you, Greg. Thanks for that," growled John-Anderson. "I hope I was - he was... this body was good. What am I even saying-? Oh, the hell with it."

Angelo bustled over again, beaming. "Anything, anything for you, Sherlock! John! What would you like?"

John-Anderson opened his mouth but before he could answer Fem-lock said, "John would like some tea and toast. With jam, if you have any."

"No, I would not," snapped John-Anderson. Sherlock huffed, kohl-lined eyes narrowing.

"John, you must eat something. You have to think of our baby. And it's your favourite."

"Tea? Fine, and toast. Dry toast. I've been feeling nauseous. But not jam. In fact, what is with the jam? I don't really like jam! The jam joke is so obscure and overplayed!"

Mrs. Dark!Hudson grinned, showing her stained sharp teeth. "But it's in every crack story, love!"

"I know! I'm sick of it! The jam can just sod off back to the comic it came from!"

"But, John, your toast," said Fem-lock.

"Sherlock, just shut up," John-Anderson snapped. He pinched the bridge of his sharp nose, trying to calm down.

"Would you rather have some biscuits?" Fem-Lock rubbed John-Anderson's stomach soothingly. "Angelo, bring those ones Anderson likes - the animal crackers shaped like dinosaurs." John-Anderson's worn patience abruptly snapped. His sharp features contorted in fury.

 _"BUGGER THE DINOSAURS_!"

There was a thud as Anthea dropped her mobile in the shocked silence that followed the outburst. Child-Molly's eyes filled, and her lower lip began to wobble. Kitty-Lestrade hissed and drew her away to sit in a chair, rubbing his cheek on her face and stropping her legs with his tail. John-Anderson groaned and covered his face.

"Not like that, I don't mean literally bugger... Oh, fuck," he whispered. "Damn the fan fiction. Why am I getting so emotional? This is not my character! Gatiss never wrote me like this!"

Agent Thursday Next cleared her throat sympathetically. "The effect of displacement. Even main characters will slowly be absorbed into the story they are currently inhabiting. And fan fiction tends towards the soap operatic range of emotion."

"Not to mention the pregnancy," pointed out Mrs. Dark!Hudson meanly. "Already showing a little aren't you, deary? Maybe you'll have twins!"

Fem-lock gasped in pleasure at the thought and hugged John to her lean body tightly. "Oh, John! Twins! I hope we have a boy and a girl! We'll name them Sherringford and Joan!"

John choked in horror. His emotions were raging, tears stinging his eyes. His waist was already thicker, wasn't it? Oh. Oh, shit. And his ankles were swollen. He turned swimming eyes to Agent Next. She shrugged.

"Time moves faster in fan fiction. A lot more plot to get through quickly than in a book. Or television script," she added. "So... yes. Within a few pages... or prompt fills, if you like - you and your partner will no doubt be proud daddies."

"Mummies," reminded My-cod pedantically.

"Whatever."

"Oh, just kill me now," whimpered John-Anderson.

Abruptly he was pushed onto his feet. Fem-lock had turned him around and was gripping his shoulders, looking fierce. "Never say that, John! You can never leave me. I...You didn't mean it?" The thin pale face looked flustered, and also a little lost. The grey eyes were wounded. She swallowed. "I know...it may be hard to adjust. Being here, after your script. I mean, you are the original, and so of course I lo... All right, I know I am just a fan fiction character. But, John..." She began fumbling in the pocket of her coat.

John-Anderson was dry-mouthed. He could hear Kitty-Lestrade muttering to Child-Molly, "See, here's where we get to see the grand gesture. It'll be all right, I promise, kitten..." My-cod hushed him with an irritated flipper flap and Mrs. Dark!Hudson snorted derisively.

Fem-lock pulled out a pen, and looked at it in bewilderment. Then her eyes lit up, and she snatched up a serviette. She thought, scribbled frantically, and then folded the thin paper and held it out to John, hand trembling slightly. She looked as though she might faint.

John-Anderson took the paper, feeling the weight of the moment. He unfolded it and read, "John. Give me a thousand kisses, a hundred more, another thousand and another hundred. In exchange, you have my heart, now, always. Yrs, SH." Underneath there was a crude little heart shape scrawled in the corner. John felt his own heart squeeze. Oh, Sherlock.

John-Anderson closed his eyes, drawing a shuddering breath. Okay. Fine. So. So he'd always been in love with his brilliant, amazing flatmate, and had never had a hope in hell that the scriptwriters would let it be more than subtext in the TV episodes. Here, in this fan fiction world, he had a chance to be more than a flatmate. Fine, so the circumstances were less than ideal - he was mated, in the wrong body and knocked up, in a world where Sherlock was a woman. But it was still Sherlock. Now, forever. Did he want to stay? Oh, God, yes.

What was that about a grand gesture? Right. Without looking at Fem-lock's tense face, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled it away from his left breast. He placed the paper against it, and accepted the gift with all that was in him. Quickly the paper sank into his skin, leaving the ink lettering and sketch tattooed over John's own heart.

He raised his serious face to Fem-lock, who was standing rigid with her hands clasped in front of her absurdly beautiful mouth. He smiled wryly. "Now and always, Sherlock," he said and stepped forward.

 

~oOo~

 

The colours of the restaurant were suddenly washed with a pink tint, as fic readers the world over and the people within Angelo's all went "D'aaawww..." The kiss was everything they'd ever wanted, tender, sweet, and swiftly turning hot and dirty. My-cod coughed, Child-Molly giggled, and Stamford looked smug. "I introduced them, you know," he whispered to Angelo, who was clutching his chest and beaming.

 

~oOo~

 

Agent Thursday Next should have expected it, considering how TV narratives usually went, but the bang of the door slamming open still startled her.

What she had not expected, however, was a foot high young man with dark hair and eight little waving tentacles to scurry in shrieking. His campy voice squeaked in a piercing Dublin accent, "No, no, no! Give it back, her heart is mine!"

Fem-lock turned in John-Anderson's arms and stared. 'Chibi-Moriarty..." she breathed. John-Anderson groaned.

"Oh, god, not again! Look, she gave it to me, it's mine now, and I'm keeping it, Squeaky. You are too late."

Chibi-Moriarty scarcely glanced at John-Anderson. "Shut your yapping pet up, won't you? Adults are speaking here! Sherlock, if I can't have your heart, I'll burn it. I'll burn the heart of you." His tiny black eyes glittered manically.

Fem-lock pushed John-Anderson's tall body behind hers. "Don't you dare hurt John. He's going to be a mummy soon, and I love him."

"Daddy," murmured My-cod, com-plaice-nt as always.

"Shut up, Mycroft!" John-Anderson tried to wrench Fem-lock aside to face the tentacled mastermind. Fem-lock resisted, and they wound up tussling. "Sherlock, for god's sake..."

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself, John!"

"I won't let you either!" They paused panting. They locked gazes and then lunged, kissing frantically, hands roaming. There was another wash of pink through the restaurant, deeper in colour this time as the fic readers over the world experienced a simultaneous panty-shiver.

"Excuse me! PAY ATTENTION to ME!" screamed Chibi-Moriarty. Stamford twitched as the lenses of his glasses cracked at the pitch of the tiny voice. Cave-Sally began shifting back and forth, knuckles dragging on the floor, watching the little man.

"No, you pay attention to me, you little shit," said Agent Next. She had her weapon out. "Do you know what this is loaded with? Eraserheads. They are only used in extreme situations, and it will reduce you to text in under a second. You can't just walk in here and toss threats out -"

Yes, I can!" warbled Chibi-Moriarty. "And this is why. Do you know what this is, Agent Next?" A tentacle held aloft a vial filled with a twisting wisp of black. Kitty-Lestrade yowled in fear, and Cave-Sally grunted, head tilted. Agent Next's gun wavered, then drooped.

"Not the mispeling vyrus. You - you utter madman. You'll kill us all," she whispered. Fem-lock and John-Anderson clutched each other tightly.

"Yes. Once infected, all of us will be reduced to misspelled, unreadable, un-Brit picked newb fic. If I can't have Sherlock's heart, no one can."

"You little fucking troll," said Mrs. Dark!Hudson admiringly. "That is the sexiest fucking thing I've seen since my dear husband got the lethal injection." Chibi-Moriarty looked up at her, head cocked and tentacles curling up. He smoothed his suit down.

"You think so? Look, sweetheart. I'm really a bit of a swinger and you seem to be my type of girl, so after I kill Johnny here and steal Sherlock's heart, how about you and I go -"

He never got to finish the sentence as a long dark Neanderthal arm reached out and plucked him up. The vial clattered to the floor and rolled away, as Cave-Sally inspected the flailing little man. "Put me down, you idiot!" he screeched. Her thick brow knitted in pain at the eardrum-splitting sound and with a grunt of disgust she flung him away. He sailed through the air, wailing and hit the front window of Angelo's with a splat! He stuck there, tentacles splayed on the glass. "...ow."

Everyone stared at Cave-Sally, who shifted under their gazes, tugging her hair nervously. "Ungha?" she enquired.

"No, that was brilliant, Sally," breathed Fem-lock. John-Anderson nodded in dumb agreement. Cave-Sally looked suspicious for moment and then smiled brightly.

"Eee!"

Angelo sniffed at the disgusting thing stuck to his window like a giant booger, and took back the romantic candle.

Agent Thursday Next waved to get everyone's attention. She had a finger pressed to her ear, and was nodding. "All right. I see. Yes, I'll let them know." She cleared her throat.

"Ladies, gentlemen, children, cave-people, cats, aquatic species and all you others. I've just received some news on my Footnoterphone from Jurisfiction Headquarters. The changes in the fan fictions have unfortunately been noticed. There has been a huge uproar from readers."

Fem-lock tightened her arms around John-Anderson. He stroked her back, and kissed her cheek soothingly. "No matter what, Sherlock," he murmured. "Now and always." She was trembling.

"Rant posters whingeing in an ugly fashion about how the WIP they've been following isn't going they way they wanted - 3%. No change there. BRBers who are 'heading to bunks' at the thought of Fem-lock and M-preg John-Anderson or Lesbian Anthea or Chibi-Tentacle-Moriarty slashing Mrs. Dark!Hudson or... whatever - 22%. I guess there are some new kinks for Rule 34 now."

Mrs. Dark!Hudson grinned ear to ear and licked her lips with a dark tongue. The others merely waited.

"29% percent of the readers are in favour of the changes," said Thursday Next.

Fem-lock whimpered, and turned her face into John-Anderson's dark hair. He felt numb. "Only 29% percent? But... that's not enough, is it? Are you going to send me back? Back to that - that hell of subtext and innuendo with my flatmate? Where I'll never have Sherlock? Never have love?"

"Oh, not at all," said the Jurisfiction Agent coolly. "You are all staying exactly where you are."

Fem-lock gasped and lifted her head, eyes glowing. "You mean...?"

Next grinned. "That's right, you genius. 46% of the readers never noticed any change to the fics at all. I suppose that means fans can handle anything. Almost anything at all."

There was a huge cheer, and John-Anderson laughed in relief. He shook hands with the Jurisfiction agent, before Fem-lock swung him off his feet in a huge embrace. "John! John!"

Thursday Next smiled as the unlikely pair kissed again. She pulled out her book and began reading, fading as she mouthed the words. And then she was gone, leaving the Sherlock fan fiction cast celebrating in Angelo's.

 

~oOo~

 

Stamford pulled off his cracked glasses and smiled at the glowering Mrs. Dark!Hudson. "Well. This is a turn-up, isn't it?"

She sneered, and then reached down, picking up an small cylinder that had rolled beneath her seat. She held it up to her eye, peered at it, then cackled. Stamford's Buddha smile faded away. "That's not...?"

"No, it isn't. But - let's have a little more fun, shall we?" She stood up and flung the vial to the floor in the centre of the room, smashing it. She peeled Chibi-Moriarty from the window and dangled him in front of her face. "How about it, little man?" she growled seductively, licking a tentacle, and he squeaked with mad laughter as the strange gold dust began to spread throughout the restaurant.

"Toots, how did you guess it was sex pollen?"

And then a Portal device opened a gateway through which a Chevy Impala drove, sideswiping Vampire-Jeff Hope's cab.

And then a blue box appeared with a grinding noise, a tall angular man leapt out and started to argue with the two men that emerged from the Impala. "You can't go in there yet!" said the young man in the bow-tie. The taller of the brothers looked at the shenanigans and lifted a brow.

"What if I want to?"

And then the werewolves and vampires and aliens attacked.

And then it got interesting.

Be right back. I'll be in my bunk.

 

 **The end.**


End file.
